The Nirvik Bureau, Bhubaneswar, 4 October 2026
A funeral without paparazzi is merely an inconvenient weekday
Mumbai briefly witnessed an unprecedented tragedy last week: a character actor died, and the nation’s leading stars reportedly failed to discover a suitable red carpet near the cremation ground.
Mushtaq Khan, the familiar, dependable face who spent decades filling Hindi cinema with comic timing, warmth and the kind of acting that did not require six-pack abs or a drone shot, was given his final farewell. Colleagues came. Fellow actors came. People who remembered his work came.
But the stars – those celestial beings who can locate a billionaire’s lawn from three continents away – were apparently unable to attend.
Veteran actor Raza Murad, refusing to apply the traditional industry perfume of silence, asked the question nobody in Bollywood likes to hear unless it is being asked by a filmmaker about a box-office opening: where were they?
From co-stars to catering staff
According to the new ceremonial code of celebrity grief, attendance depends on the event’s “visibility potential.”
A funeral of a man who worked for nearly fifty years? Regrettably, there are no designer hampers, no floral-wall photo opportunities, no slow-motion entry under a chandelier, and no international influencer to tag.
But let an industrialist’s son marry an industrialist’s daughter, and Bollywood’s galaxy aligns with mathematical precision. Superstars materialise before the first canapé has emotionally recovered from being plated. They dance, smile, bless, sing, clap, wave, and—if the guest list is sufficiently wealthy – serve dinner with the devotion of unpaid interns auditioning for a role in a historical epic.
At such weddings, the actor who played a warrior king becomes a waiter. The actress who once saved the nation from aliens becomes a tray-bearing ambassador of social mobility. The action hero who cannot return a journalist’s greeting suddenly develops the wrist flexibility of a five-star banquet professional.
“Sir, truffle kulcha?”
The nation watches in awe. The media calls it humility. The billionaire calls it entertainment. The celebrity calls it networking. The waiter, somewhere in a corner, calls it unemployment.
A 50-year career versus 50 minutes
Mushtaq Khan’s problem, it seems, was not that he lacked talent. His problem was that he had too much of the wrong kind: the kind that does not arrive in a convoy, wear sunglasses indoors, or announce its charitable mood through a public-relations team.
He built a career not by attending private yachts, not by marrying into a production house, and not by releasing a statement beginning with “I am deeply devastated.” He did it the old-fashioned way: by acting.
This is an increasingly suspicious method in an industry where visibility has become a more prestigious craft than performance.
A man may spend half a century appearing beside stars, rescuing weak scenes, sharpening comic moments, giving life to side characters and making the leading man look slightly less wooden. Yet at the end, the same industry may discover that it has no slot available in its calendar – not between a product launch, a luxury wedding, a political photo-op and a carefully timed airport appearance.
Fifty years of work, and not fifty minutes of remembrance.
That is not forgetfulness. That is a business model.
The final close-up
Raza Murad’s anger was not really about attendance. It was about the industry’s exhausting habit of treating people as useful only while the camera is rolling.
Bollywood loves “family.” It says so at award shows, trailer launches, press conferences and funerals – preferably those involving people famous enough to generate a trending hashtag. But its family tree has a peculiar botany: the roots are invisible, the leaves are disposable, and only the tallest branches receive sunlight.
Fame, Raza Murad reminded everyone, is a temporary lighting arrangement. Today’s face glows under a thousand flashbulbs; tomorrow, the same face may wait in darkness for one former colleague to remember the way.
The stars may not have come. But perhaps they were busy rehearsing grief for a better venue.
